


When the Opportunity Presents Itself

by imamaryanne



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Kent and Happiness, Kent's Birthday, Las Vegas Aces, M/M, Mentions of Jack Zimmermann - Freeform, Mostly Fluff, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7283056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imamaryanne/pseuds/imamaryanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent's teammate hosts a Fourth of July party every year. This year, Kent meets that teammate's brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Opportunity Presents Itself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For Nervoushay. 
> 
> Thanks to AmandaCritelliWestphal for the beta!

By all accounts, Kent Parson had everything he wanted. He had a successful hockey career that included two Stanley Cups, a Hart Trophy, the Captaincy of the Las Vegas Aces, not to mention  a contract worth an amount that actually embarrassed Kent to think about. He had a beautiful condo on the top floor of Las Vegas’s most exclusive high rise building. He had Kit Purrson, the most famous cat on Instagram. He had a mother and a little sister who loved him and loved visiting him. Providing for them with the money from his ridiculous contract was Kent’s main source of pleasure. 

So why did he often feel so terrible?

When he’d stop to think about it, something he hated doing because thinking about things always made him feel worse, he knew deep down what the problem was. He was gay and had metaphorically shoved himself deep into a closet and locked it tight from the inside. 

Being the first player out in the NHL would have been fine for some people, but Kent didn’t want that. He was much happier being known as a hockey player -  one of the best players in the league to be exact. 

Kent worked hard to cultivate a certain reputation. He was the Captain of the Aces, and he desperately wanted people to know he earned that spot by being  _ serious  _ about hockey. He was serious about hockey despite the bad boy reputation he’d managed to snag. Kent Parson getting yet another speeding ticket in his ridiculous sports car was always a minor news story in Vegas. As were his trips to the high-roller blackjack tables in the casinos. But really, speeding tickets and an occasional loss at blackjack were the least of what an actual bad boy would do. Kent spent far more nights cuddling with Kit Purrson and bingeing on Netflix than he did at the high rollers table in the casinos. 

Ironically, Kent had managed to cultivate a reputation as a ladies’ man, which is something he hadn’t even tried to do. Evidently, never bringing a date (other than sometimes his own sister) to any hockey function made people think Kent “didn’t want to be tied down,” or “had so many women, he couldn’t choose just one to bring to this event.” 

Jack Zimmermann, once he and Kent had kind of mended their friendship, told him “Of course people think that. They can’t think past their own values of heteronormativity to see that you might not be interested in women at all.” Kent wasn’t even sure what that meant, but didn’t want to tell the college boy he didn’t get it. 

Jack was one of six people who knew about Kent’s sexuality. Kent had come out to his mother and sister, and to his therapist (who Kent saw at the insistence of the Aces, right after they drafted him a mere two days after he’d found Jack’s near-lifeless body). The other two people who knew? Brian Eyeler and Shane Jefferson, two NHL players that Kent would hook up with when the Aces played their teams (Nashville and Phoenix, respectively) but would never talk to otherwise because all three were interested in remaining closeted. 

Kent’s mother and sister believed he should be more open. “You’d be happier if you were out,” his sister, Kelly, would always tell him. 

“No I wouldn’t,” Kent would argue. “People would ask me questions I don’t feel like answering. And religious assholes would protest my games, and it would create so much work for the Aces’ PR, and if I’m playing with a homophobe on my team, I’d honestly rather not know.” 

“You’d be able to date.” 

“I do alright,” Kent lied. 

“Hooking up with Brian Eyler and Shane Jefferson a few times a year isn’t doing alright.” 

“I’m fine,” Kent insisted. 

This conversation, or some form of it, always went the same way. Kent would insist he was fine, but Kelly always knew better. She knew Kent was lonely. She knew he was even keeping friends at arm’s length. She knew that all the money in the world couldn’t buy her brother what he actually needed. 

The thing is, despite what he’d say, Kent knew Kelly was right, and it was something he’d talk to his therapist about at times. Not that he needed to go on Sports Center draped in a rainbow flag, but it would be nice if maybe a few more people knew. Then maybe he wouldn’t feel like he had to watch every single thing he was saying when he was around people he should feel the most comfortable around. 

Kent was starting to look for a good reason, and the right time, to tell someone. He figured the opportunity would present itself. 

  
  


Kent’s teammate, and his best friend on the Aces, Peter “Nollie” Nolan, always hosted a Fourth of July party at his house. Nollie was the team sweetheart. The media loved him and his model-turned-philanthropist wife Patrice and their three p-monikered kids, Piper, Paige, and little baby PJ. Their lives were so picture perfect it sometimes made Kent want to throw up when they joked about adopting Kent and having his first name legally changed to Parse.

Kent and Nollie made an odd pair. Kent was the single guy with the reputation- the guy who got an attitude with the media after every loss. Nollie, eight years older than Kent, married his high school sweetheart, treated reporters with exceptional manners and kindness, and sobbed openly when talking about the births of his children. Kent and Nollie were close, and the media ate up their brotherly off-ice friendship. 

Nollie was Kent’s Assistant Captain, and they became even closer that year when their team had been decimated by a string of unlucky injuries to several veterans requiring Kent and Nollie to have to lead several very young AHL call-ups. It hadn’t been a great year. The Stanley Cup Champion Aces only managed to squeak into the playoffs by a single point, then lost in the first round in four straight games. 

By the time July Fourth rolled around, the sting of the losing season was easing, and Nollie was beginning to get philosophical about the season. (“It was a learning curve for all of us,” he’d said trying to get Kent to cheer up. “We got these guys some valuable experience.”)

Kent pulled his car up to the opened gate at the Nolans’ house. To call it a house was an understatement. Most of the single guys on the team lived in condos (a few in the same building as Kent), but the guys with families all had huge houses in gated communities, and Nollie’s house was probably the biggest of them all, which made it perfect for the annual July Fourth party. 

Kent walked around the back of the house. People were already splashing in the pool, kids were running around, faces sticky with popsicle juice, a volleyball game was being played, and the music was blaring. 

“Happy birthday!” Patrice Nolan headed toward Kent with one arm extended for a hug, the other arm holding baby PJ on her hip.

“Thank you,” Kent kissed her cheek and grabbed the baby from her. “Please tell me you didn’t get me a cake again this year.” He nuzzled PJ’s head, inhaling the smell of baby. 

“Of course I did,” Patrice said. “Who else is going to make sure you get cake on your birthday?” 

“Thanks,” Kent said dryly. She didn’t mean anything by it, but Kent did  _ not _ need to be reminded of the fact that he had no one special to buy him a birthday cake. He was well-aware of his own loneliness. He bounced PJ in front of him, “Hey Junior,” he said. PJ looked at Kent with confused blue eyes and chewed on his fingers. “Your mama is worried about me living alone.” 

Patrice laughed. “Well, some of my friends who I work with at the shelter are here, if you’re interested in meeting anyone….” she trailed off. She looked at Kent with a question in her eyes.

Kent rolled his eyes, and placed a kiss on top of the baby’s head. “Maybe,” he said non-committally. “Let me have a few drinks first.” He handed the baby back to Patrice and made his way over to the coolers to grab a beer. 

Nollie’s oldest daughter, six year old Piper, was standing on top of a closed cooler and jumping into the arms of a guy Kent didn’t recognize. “Parse!” she called to him, bouncing down from the other guy’s arms and into Kent’s. 

“Hey Piper!” Kent tossed her in the air a little bit. “Oof,” he huffed as he caught her. “You’re getting too big to do that.” 

Piper giggled, “Grant said the same thing,” she said pointing to the other guy. 

Kent took a look at this guy, Grant. He was very handsome, but had a familiar look about him Kent couldn’t put his finger on. Tall and thin, but still broad across the chest with longish brown hair that suggested it was either in the process of being outgrown or that there was a lack of care about his looks. He was wearing a pair of cargo shorts, flip flops, and a faded polo shirt that said “UNLV Medical Center.” He had dark framed glasses and a five o’clock shadow that made him look like an intellectual hipster.  

Kent adjusted his sunglasses to make sure his eyes were hidden, not wanting to give away how intently he was checking this guy out. 

Grant gave Kent a friendly smile, “Hi. I’m Grant Nolan.” 

“Oh,” Kent said, shifting Piper in his arms a little to shake his hand, “You must be Nollie’s brother.” That’d be the reason he looked familiar, now that Kent looked closer, he could see the brotherly resemblance. 

“Nollie is daddy,” Piper explained to Grant. 

He smiled at her, “I see,” he said seriously. “Yeah, the rest of us just call him Pete.” 

“I’m Kent Parson.” 

“Is it weird if I say I already know that?” Grant laughed, sounding mildly embarrassed. 

“Not weird,” Kent assured him. He was used to people knowing who he was. 

Piper interrupted them, “Are you guys going to get in the pool? I want to go swimming!” 

Kent put her down, “Maybe a little later,” he promised, and watched her run off toward the pool while he reached into the cooler and pulled out a beer. “Want anything?” he asked Grant. 

“Beer is good.”

Kent pulled out two beers and handed one to Grant. Keeping his voice as casual as possible, he asked, “Do you live in Vegas?” 

Grant nodded, “I moved out here a couple years ago. Our mom moved here after Pete and Patrice started having kids. Then when I finished medical school in Minnesota I followed.”

“Med school?” Kent asked. “You’re a doctor?”

“Yep,” Grant tapped the label on his shirt, “University Medical Center.” 

“Shit, that’s awesome.” 

Grant cocked his head, “You’re a professional athlete,” he said. 

Kent shrugged, “A doctor is more impressive.” 

Grant raised one eyebrow, which made Kent smile. Nollie gave Kent the exact same skeptical look way too often. “If you say so.”    


Kent had done the bare minimum needed to get his high school GED, and college had never been part of his plan. But a doctor had a lot of school, right? Four years of college then how many years of medical school? Kent didn’t even know. Ugh, why did he have such a  _ thing _ for college guys?  

“Any idiot with talent can play hockey,” Kent said. “Not everyone can get through that much school, and save lives to boot.” God, did he sound sarcastic? He was trying hard not to sound like his usual sarcastic self. 

Grant laughed a little, “Alright. I win” 

Kent smiled back at him, and they walked over to the food table to get something to eat, chatting the whole way. 

“Sorry about your season,” Grant said. 

Kent shrugged, “You can’t win them all. We were working with a lot of really young guys-”

Grant cut him off and said, laughing, “You don’t have to give me the media-friendly answers.” 

Kent sighed. “It was a really frustrating year,” he admitted. He grabbed a plate and started loading food onto it, before adding, “Frustrating is putting it mildly.” 

“I’m sorry I brought it up.”

Kent shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll turn into a real dick if I have to talk about last season,” he said. “Not the first impression I wanted to make.” He slid his sunglasses down a little and gave Grant a knowing smirk. 

Grant paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the platter of watermelon. Kent saw the look of realization cross his face. Grant had just figured out he was being flirted with. 

“Well,” Grant smiled back at Kent, meeting his eyes briefly before Kent pushed his sunglasses back into place. “In that case, I’m thankful your first impression of me is smart doctor.” 

“I wouldn’t say that’s the first,” Kent said. Hoping Grant would get it. Hoping he’d realize that Kent had realized Grant was handsome before he even knew he was a doctor.

Grant guffawed, and finished filling his plate with food. Once they both had their plates full, they looked for a place to sit. They laughed when they saw only one lounge chair, a chaise-style chair, overlooking the volleyball game, available. “You take it,” Kent said. 

“No, I insist,” Grant said, bowing chivalrously. 

“It’s a big chair, we can share,” Kent said. He should probably reign in his flirting a little, but it had been so long since Kent had anyone to actually flirt with, he couldn’t make himself stop. On the rare occasion Kent went out with his teammates after a game or after practice, he’d try not to drink too much because he  _ knew _ he couldn’t stop flirting, with both men and women, when he drank. 

After they were settled side by side on the chaise, Kent watched as Piper and Paige, the five year old, were jumping in the pool shouting “Uncle Grant! Watch us! Watch us!”  

Kent said, “Your nieces love you,” and nudged Grant with his shoulder.  

“They’re cute,” Grant said. He didn’t pull away from Kent’s shoulder, and in fact scooted in the seat a little so they were sitting even closer.  “They’re easy to love.” 

“Heads up!” someone yelled, and Kent looked up curiously just a second too late. A rogue volleyball, spiked by one of Kent’s teammates, had gone out of bounds and smacked Kent square in the face. 

Kent dropped his plate of food and raised his hands to his face. He’d been hit right between the eyes. Kent looked up and things were a little blurry and he was seeing stars. He squeezed his eyes shut, “Shit,” he said. 

“Up,” Grant ordered, grabbing Kent’s hand and pulling him to a stand. “Let’s get you into the pool house. They have a first aid kit there.” 

“Fuck,” Kent said. As he stood and got his bearings, his head actually cleared up and his vision returned to normal. But he still let Grant lead him, arm around his waist, to the pool house. 

Patrice came running up to them, “Can I help?” 

“Get us an ice pack,” Grant ordered, sounding very much like a doctor.

Grant sat Kent on a bench just inside the pool house, shut the door, and pulled Kent’s hands from his face. “Let me take a look.” 

“What kind of doctor are you?” Kent asked. 

Grant smiled. “I’m an ER physician.”

“How convenient,” Kent said dryly. 

“Mm-hmm,” Grant began rooting through a junk drawer and came out with a flashlight. “Open your eyes,” he ordered. 

Kent opened his eyes as wide as he could, though he could feel they were already starting to swell. Grant shined the light in one eye, then the other. 

Patrice came running in with an ice bag wrapped in a tea towel and handed it to Grant. “You need anything else?” she asked. 

“No thanks.” Grant dismissed her as he placed the ice carefully against Kent’s face and asked him a few questions. “How’s your vision?” He sat next to Kent on the bench. 

“Fine,” Kent said. “It blurred right after the ball hit me, but it straightened out quick.” 

“Head?” 

“Fine.”

“Feel sick to your stomach?”

“You know I’m a professional athlete, right? I know to tell someone immediately if I’m going to vomit after getting hit in the head.” 

“Have you had concussions before?”

“Sure,” Kent said. “I know what it feels like and I don’t think I have one now.” 

They sat there quietly for a few moments, Grant holding the ice pack to Kent’s face. Kent could have held it himself, but he was kind of enjoying the contact, the feeling of being taken care of. “Feeling any better?” Grant asked as he pulled the ice away to check on the swelling. “You’re going to have a couple of shiners.” 

Kent shrugged, “My pride’s going to be bruised too. How is it I can react to a hockey puck going much faster, but I couldn’t get out of the way of a volleyball in a fucking pickup game?” 

Grant smiled, “It happens.” 

“There’s a joke in here somewhere about me taking balls to the face.” 

“Haha. Nice,” Grant said. 

Kent raised his hand to the ice pack, but instead of taking it from Grant, simply put his hand over Grant’s and intertwined their fingers. It was likely he was taking this flirting thing way too far, and this was Nollie’s  _ brother _ for Christ’s sake. But he liked Grant and he was sick of not being able to even admit to liking someone. 

They continued to hold the ice pack together when Grant said, “Hey, we should go out and grab dinner some time.” Kent thought he heard a slight quaver of nerves in Grant’s voice. 

Kent paused and pulled the ice to one side so he could make eye contact with Grant. “Oh, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Sorry,” Grant said. He slipped his hand from underneath Kent’s and scooted away from him to the end of the bench.  “I thought I had a read on this.” He waved a hand between himself and Kent. “I guess I was wrong.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Kent admitted. 

“Then why can’t we have dinner sometime?” 

“You might find this information shocking, but I’m a little bit famous.”

Grant laughed. “Yes, I know. I have a famous brother.” 

“I’m not out,” Kent explained. “I can’t go out with anyone in public because there’s paparazzi.” 

Grant scratched the back of his neck and thought hard, “I can make dinner for you at my place?”  He hoped he didn’t sound desperate. 

Kent smiled, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Grant looked unsure, “Yeah?” 

“Yes,” Kent stressed. 

Grant leaned back in, pulled the ice pack down for a moment and kissed Kent softly on the lips. 

Kent smiled into the kiss. This was nice, it’d been awhile since he kissed someone because he actually liked him, and not because it was a guy who he could fuck and could keep his secret. 

“You know,” Grant said, as he pulled back and replaced the ice pack gently on Kent’s face, “We could always double date with Pete and Patrice. Then the paparazzi would just see a couple hanging out with their friend and their brother.” 

“Pete doesn’t even know I’m gay,” Kent said. 

“Seriously?” Grant asked. “You know he’d be fine with it. Shit, I was twelve and Pete was thirteen when I told him and he managed to not say a single thing to anyone until I was ready to come out, when I was in college.” 

“I’ve kept it from everyone in hockey,” Kent explained. 

“So who  _ are  _ you out to?” 

“My mom, my sister, and the total of three guys I’ve slept with.” 

“You trust those guys, but not Pete?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Pete. But I do trust them because all three of them are current NHL players who have just as much an interest in their secret as I have in mine.” 

Grant shrugged, “Listen. I’m not about to tell you how to run your life. But I never told my dad, and he died before I got a chance.”

Kent knew about their dad. He died when Nollie was twenty, right after he joined the league. Grant must have been nineteen and in college. “That sucks. But I’ve told most of the people who are really important to me.”

“But not Pete?” Grant asked again. “Don’t you get lonely? I mean, not just for company or sex or whatever. But Pete considers you one of his best friends. Doesn’t it make you feel alone to not be able to talk about this part of yourself to your friends?”  

“Sure,” Kent said. “But I’m a professional hockey player, and a damn good one, which is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to be. I have two Stanley Cup rings to keep me company.” 

Grant looked doubtful, but shrugged. Kent was relieved he didn’t push it further. Because Kent knew his life was pathetic. He knew that there were people he could trust, but he chose to keep everything to himself and his therapist. His life wasn’t perfect, and he didn’t see any reason to rock the boat and offer himself up as some sort of sacrificial lamb for gay athletes everywhere. 

Eventually, other guests needed the pool house to change into their bathing suits, so Kent and Grant had to leave. Kent was grateful only a few people had even noticed him getting hit by the volleyball (it’d been spiked, poorly, by one of Kent’s rookie teammates, who’d been horrified to realize he struck his Captain). The swelling wasn’t too bad, but Kent managed to keep his sunglasses on knowing he’d wind up on Instagram and Twitter. 

When Patrice brought Kent’s birthday cake out, and forced the dozens of party-goers to sing  _ Happy Birthday _ , Grant looked delighted, “You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday!” he said, his hand resting lightly, for just a moment, on Kent’s lower back. 

They ate cake, and continued to drink well into the night. Grant by Kent’s side nearly the entire time. Right before the fireworks started, Kent grabbed Nollie and pulled him into the house. “Your brother asked me out,” Kent told him.

Nollie looked surprised, “Shit, bro, I’m sorry.  I can tell him to back off-”

Kent cut him off. “I said yes.” 

“You what now?”

Kent sighed and looked heavenward, pressing his fingers lightly into his bruised browline. “I said yes.” 

“Parse, are you gay?” 

“Yes.” 

“Motherfucker. Why didn’t you tell me before?” Nollie punched him in the arm. 

“I’ve never told anyone. Well, anyone besides my mom and sister.” 

“And my brother.” 

Kent made a face, “I didn’t  _ tell _ him. He just knew.” Kent paused, “After I spent most of the afternoon flirting with him.” 

Nollie let out a loud “Ha! Nice, dude.”  

Kent snorted. “Is this going to be weird?” 

“No!” Nollie said emphatically. “It’s going to be fucking awesome!”

“It’s just one date,” Kent said. 

“Listen,” Nollie said. “I get to be the protective big brother now. Grant was with his last boyfriend for five years and the guy cheated on him and dumped him and it took Grant  _ forever _ to get over him. I will personally cut you if you do that to him.” 

“Yes, sir,” Kent said sarcastically. 

“Listen,” Nollie put his arm around Kent’s shoulder. “No matter what. Even if it doesn’t work out between you and Grant, I want you to know I’ve got your back and so would all the other guys on the team. You know that, right?” 

Kent sighed, “I guess.” 

“Honestly,” Nollie stressed. “You know I’m not even that surprised.”

“Really?” Kent was doubtful. 

“Well, Patrice suggested it once a while ago. When we had some charity event, she was like, ‘Hey, maybe Parse doesn’t bring a date because he’s not into women.’”

Kent snorted. Jack Zimmermann would be proud of Patrice and her lack of heteronormative values. 

“Seriously,” Nollie stressed. “I’m not about to tell anyone. You want to keep this a secret? I’m happy to keep it for you. But if there’s ever a time when you don’t, I’ve got you.”

Kent nodded. He didn’t want to admit to himself how much better he felt from having told one person, because that could lead to telling more people, and then more people, and when would it end? With being outed? With happiness? Kent felt pretty happy at the moment, for the first time in a long time, but he couldn’t help feeling it wouldn’t last. 

Still, when Grant came along, Kent’s heart skipped a beat and he grinned at him. “I’m giving Parse the protective big brother spiel,” Nollie told his younger brother. 

Grant groaned, “Spare me, please. You’re only fourteen months older than me.” 

“Never,” Nollie answered. 

“If you want to do something for me, you can have your wife stop trying to set me up with every single woman she knows.” Kent said. 

“Oh God,” Grant said, laughing. 

“So the secrecy doesn’t extend to Patrice?” Nollie wanted to know. 

Kent was impressed. He assumed that Nollie would definitely tell his wife, but the fact that he wouldn’t unless Kent gave the OK, made him feel warm and protected. He reached out and grabbed Grant’s hand and swung it a little. “You can tell her,” he said. “But that’s it. For now, anyway.” 

For now, this was good. It had been a big day for Kent. Who knew that getting hit in the face with a volleyball would lead to Kent getting a date and coming out to a teammate? 

  
If one night could change things so much, maybe with time, Kent could have the life he wanted.


End file.
